


Lessons

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adele – Freeform, Angsting over the past, Fluff, M/M, Piano, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since Tobio has touched the piano. </p><p>One day, his gaze lingers on it a little longer than usual, and he finds that his reasons for quitting no longer exist. However, he might have a good very good reason to give it another try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to an anon ask on Tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> _Okay, okay, imagine Kageyama was actually quite musically talented and he played piano and sang sometimes. Imagine Hinata walked in on him playing playing piano and he just falls even more in love (◕‿◕✿)_

It’s been gathering dust since middle school, when the lessons stopped. Tobio has looked at it a hundred times, wondering if he should pull out the bench, flip the lid up, and see if his hands will still cooperate with the delicate keys. But he doesn’t. Not for three years. The closest he ever gets is slapping the metronome into action, as if its sway is a finger wagging at him, telling him no.

The last piece he played on this jet black piano still sits on the stand. It is a song he had learned as a birthday gift for his mother, as it had been her current favorite. At the time, it was just a song, but by the time he actually had performed it, the words and melody began to haunt him for entirely different reasons.

However, he isn’t fifteen anymore. Isn’t self-medicating his crippling social anxiety and self-hatred by practicing jump serves for ten hours a day. Isn’t alone anymore.

With a shrug, he pulls back the lid and lets his fingers dance over the keys, pealing out a few rudimentary scales. He is rusty, yes, but his fingers seem to jump to life of their own accord, as if it has been days and not years since he last did anything related to music.

Tobio harrumphs and pulls out the bench. He peruses the piece in front of him and works out the basic chord sequence before looking at the lyrics. The English words are printed on the page, but the Japanese translation is penciled in below. He remembers trying so hard to pronounce the words in the original English, but his tongue tripped over the words. His piano teacher had taken pity on him and translated the lyrics for him. But three years of English class makes the strange, round letters look much less daunting.

Taking a deep breath, Tobio wiggles his fingers — an old habit — before he beginning the opening instrumental solo. There are miskeys and clunkers as he works his way through it, but as the beginning of the lyrics approaches, the rhythm and notes smooth almost of their own accord.

Tobio clears his throat a few measures before the lyrics start and fills his diaphragm to ready himself. The song is meant for a female singer, and it takes him a few notes to find the right pitch an octave lower, but he still remembers the song and its lilting, aria-like quality. His eyes are glued to the English words as he begins to sing.

_I heard that you’re settled down,_  
_That you found a girl and you’re married now._  
_I heard that your dreams came true.  
_ _Guess she gave you things I couldn’t give to you._

His vocal chords do not vibrate with the clarity they did years ago and his lungs burn from lack of practice, but it feels surprisingly good to hear the sounds of the piano mingle with his own voice once again.

_Old friend, why are you so shy?_  
_Ain’t like you to hold back or hide from the light._  
_I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,_  
_But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it._  
_I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded  
_ _That for me, it isn't over._

_Never mind, I’ll find someone like you._  
_I wish nothing but the best for you, too._  
_Don’t forget me, I beg; I remember you said,_  
_‘Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts, instead.’  
_ _Sometimes it lasts in love, but some —_

“Gwah!”

Tobio is so engrossed by following both the notes and the words that the exclamation from behind him causes him to smash his palms against the keys, the sound uncomfortably discordant. A throaty growl replaces the husky purr of the song’s chorus.

“Dumbass Hinata, what are you doing here? Who let you in?” Tobio barks, his cheeks losing their color as he realizes that a secret that he has kept from his volleyball teammates for a decade is irreparably _out_.

But Hinata merely blinks, his mouth agape as his gaze darts back and forth between Tobio and the piano. Finally, he babbled, “Th-that was beautiful. I didn’t know you were good at anything except volleyball.”

His mouth sloping into a frown, Tobio snaps, “It’s not like it’s a big deal, moron.”

“Is too!” Hinata jabs a finger towards the piano. “I’ve known you for three years. Why didn’t you say you could play?”

Tobio falls silent, debating whether to tell Hinata why he had stopped playing in the first place. He did not even tell his mother the reason; instead, he had sharply refused to go to lessons anymore and she had sadly called his instructor to cancel his bi-weekly sessions.

With a sigh, Tobio says, “I couldn’t handle it after my team quit on me at Kitagawa. I needed mindless distraction, not something that makes me think.”

Uncharacteristically silent, Hinata nods soberly and crosses the room to sit next to Tobio on the piano bench. “You should keep playing. It’s good for you.” When Tobio’s brows shoot up into his hairline in surprise, Hinata chuckles. “You should see your face when you’re singing. You look almost . . . peaceful.”

When Hinata colors at that descriptor, so does Tobio. “Do not,” he mutters with little conviction. He remembers his mother saying something similar when he had demanded the lessons stop. The truth is that he _does_ feel peaceful when he plays or sings, but it had merely felt like a placebo at the time, the crash afterward making his loneliness and doubt all the sharper.

He sees Hinata biting at his lower lip. Tobio knows now that this means the other boy wants to ask him something but can’t find the words. “Spit it out,” he commands.

Hinata’s fingers feather over the keys, his gaze filled with . . . longing? “I always wanted to play, but we could never afford a piano.” He looks up at Tobio. “Could you show me a few things?”

Tobio blinks in surprise. “I haven’t played in years, and we both know how bad I am at teaching you things.”

Shaking his head, Hinata says, “Nothing difficult. Just something simple.”

Though he wants to say no right away, something about the raw earnestness in Hinata’s eyes make the refusal die on Tobio’s tongue.

“All right.” He reaches over to cover Hinata’s right hand with his own, moving both of them until their index fingers rest over middle C. Spreading out both their hands, he guides the middle and ring fingers to the E and G keys. With a gentle push, Hinata plays his first chord.

The joy that floods Hinata’s face at the sound makes Tobio feel like a hundred tiny volleyballs are slamming around in his stomach, and he begins to feel like these little lessons are not such a terrible idea, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the lyrics to Someone Like You; those belong to Adele Adkins, Columbia Records, and possibly a whole wing of my soul devoted to the aforementioned goddess of song.


End file.
